


Fight Fire With Fire

by messageredacted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is her father’s daughter through and through, and she knows something is wrong. Pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Fire With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 14 February 2009.

It’s an unseasonably warm April night and they’re sitting on the front porch, John with his feet up on the railing and a cold beer in his hand, Mary with a book splayed on her lap, when the overhead light starts flickering.

“Not you too,” John says to it, making no move to get up. The kitchen light popped over their heads this morning when they were having breakfast, and the television hasn’t worked for days.

“Must be a bad bulb,” Mary says, tracing a finger down an unread page. It’s not a bad bulb. She knows this.

“Didn’t you just replace it last week?”

“Yes.”

The kitchen light could be a fluke. The television could be temperamental because it’s old. But she just replaced this light bulb last week, and now this is the third thing in two days. She’s her father’s daughter through and through, and she knows something is wrong.

The light flares blue for an instant and then goes out, leaving them in darkness. The streetlight illuminates the lawn, but the porch is a cocoon of darkness. Mary claps the book shut and stands.

“I’m getting a drink,” she says. John takes his legs off the railing to let her pass.

The house is dark. She leaves the lights off and goes into the kitchen, opening the freezer and taking out a tray of ice. She empties some into a glass, filling it with water.

They should be safe here. She made sure that every precaution was taken when they bought the house; hidden salt lines, devil’s traps, charms and amulets crammed everywhere. It’s difficult to keep their existence from John but it’s worth it to know that nothing is going to come back and break his neck again. She already had to bring him back once, and she doesn’t even know what the implications are of that deal. She doesn’t want to know what the second time will cost.

##

John falls asleep first, but Mary can’t seem to shut off her mind. She tries for a while, then gets up again and rechecks all of the locks and the wards. Sure, they should be safe, but it’s so easy to accidentally break the wards. A hidden leak in the wall can run through the devil’s trap and cut a line through the paint, or wash away the salt.

If it comes down to risking John finding out or having him killed by some supernatural beastie, Mary is willing to risk the former. There is a new box of salt in the pantry and she takes it out, running it along the windowsills and doorways.

Azazel can’t be coming back for the deal yet. She has no children.

She empties the box on the last windowsill in the living room and straightens, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe it really is just a bad bulb.

When she turns around, there is a man standing there. He has his back to her, his hands in his pockets.

Mary doesn’t scream. She puts down the box of salt and readies the words in the back of her head. _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…_ There should be a devil’s trap by the front door. If she can lure him over there, she can exorcise him at her leisure.

“Azazel,” she says.

The man turns. He is clean-shaven, with dark eyes and hair. His eyes aren’t yellow, which is not a reassurance.

“No,” he replies.

She takes in a shaky breath and shifts her weight to the right. He’s between her and the door but if she feints she might be able to get past him before he can grab her.

“No?” She tries to smooth the shakiness from her voice. “One of his minions, then? Does he have minions? He seemed like someone who would.”

“Do not be afraid, Mary Winchester.” The man has no expression, no inflection in his voice. The demons that she has met have all been smug bastards.

“No?” She forces a laugh. “Why not?”

“I want to talk to you.”

She steps right and then whirls left, dodging past him and making it to the door. She knows there’s a Devil’s Trap under her feet. She puts her hand on the doorknobs and looks back at him.

Inexplicably, he hasn’t moved. He slowly turns to look at her, his expression unchanged.

“I am not here to harm you,” he says.

“Prove it.”

There is a brief silence as the man stares at her. And then all of a sudden, without warning, the room is filled with the whisper of a thousand birds in flight, and the man has great black wings spouting from his shoulders, the tips touching the ceiling.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” he says quietly.

##

The room seems smaller when the wings are gone, or maybe it’s just the reeling claustrophobia inside Mary’s chest.

“Angels don’t exist,” she whispers.

In answer, he crosses the room to her. She doesn’t move until he steps into the Devil’s Trap. He stops there, staring at her with something that may be pity or sympathy or condescension or may just be the same lack of expression that he’s had since he arrived.

“You made a deal with Azazel,” he says.

“He killed John,” she hisses back. “I had no choice.”

“You had a choice,” the angel says. She can’t tell if he disapproves or if he’s simply stating a fact. “You chose. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

Mary backs up to the living room door, a safe distance away. “You were there? And you didn’t do anything to save anyone? My parents are dead because of him!”

He sighs and steps out of the Devil’s Trap. “I am not all powerful. Why things happened the way they did is not something I am capable of understanding. The reason I’m here now is to help you change the future.”

Mary hugs herself, staring at the floor where the Devil’s Trap is. Perhaps the trap has been damaged in some way, and that’s why he can move with impunity. Or maybe he’s telling the truth.

“How can I change the future?”

He stops a few feet away from her, giving her space. “It’s been six years and you haven’t had children yet. I know you’re afraid.”

She lifts her chin and doesn’t say anything. She has argued with John over this for years now, but there is no way she can bring herself to have children when she knows…

“Azazel will come, as he says. If you have no children, you know what will happen. He will take John back.”

Tears are suddenly spilling down Mary’s cheeks. “I know,” she whispers. God, this is something she’s thought about again and again. If she has children, she can keep John, but how can she give her child to a demon? But if she doesn’t, Azazel will take everything.

“How can I change it?” She rubs at her cheek with the back of her wrist, sucking in a wet breath.

The angel closes the last distance between them. She can feel his presence like a cool breeze blowing across her skin and despite herself she closes her eyes. His fingers touch her wrist, cold as marble.

His reply is so quiet that perhaps it just appears in her head fully formed. “We turn your child into a weapon of the Lord.”


End file.
